


Answers You Seek

by TeamHPForever



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamHPForever/pseuds/TeamHPForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Coulson shows up at one of Clint's many safe houses, Clint's not as surprised as he should be. He just wishes that Coulson would stick around a little bit longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answers You Seek

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the Agents of SHIELD episode, Yes Men, and takes place after the events of that episode. There are some spoilers so read at your own risk.

Clint doesn’t question it when Coulson shows up at the front door of one of his many safe houses, clutching his SHIELD-issued gun and covered in blood. Clint just lets him in, points down the hall to the bathroom, and leaves a shirt and pants outside the door for him.

It’s about an hour before Coulson reappears, Clint’s clothes a little bit too long for him but still oddly tight. Clint stays silent as he sets a cup of coffee and a sandwich on the table and stares at Coulson until he sits down.

“I’ve been…looking for answers,” Coulson says, like that explains everything. Clint can understand that. He’s spent most of his life looking for answers, searching for his place in the world. “Things got a little out of hand.”

“Where is your team?” Clint asks, speaking for the first time.

Coulson shrugs and that’s stranger than anything that has happened tonight. Coulson is meticulous and loyal and he always knows where all the members of his team are. At least, that’s how he was when he was Clint’s handler. He supposes death can change a person. “I didn’t want them to get involved.”

“Do you want me involved?”

“I just really needed someplace to stay and this was the first place I thought of…” Coulson trails off and Clint sees everything falling into place like a puzzle. Fury’s disappearance over the past couple months, agents being sent out on missions that didn’t make sense, Clint’s two-week protection detail on a doctor that turned out to be nothing. It was all because of Coulson.

“I’ll make up the couch.” Clint starts to stand up but Coulson stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“You’re the only one I can trust,” Coulson says and his voice cracks on the last word. Clint doesn’t know what to do with this new man sitting in his kitchen. The Coulson he knew was strong and able, the kind of man who could stand up in front of a murderous god and crack _jokes._

This Coulson looks wild-eyed and fierce, like a cornered jackal. Clint’s been in that position often enough to know exactly how it feels.

Clint extricates himself gently from Coulson’s grip and goes to make up the couch. It’s small and fairly uncomfortable, but so is the bed. This is only a safe house, somewhere for him to crash for a day or two until he can make it back to SHIELD—the closest thing he has to a home.

When he’s done, Coulson comes through from the kitchen and sits down on the corner of the couch. He starts to talk and once he gets started, Clint isn’t sure he knows how to stop. Coulson tells him about the Battle of New York, about dying, about TAHITI, about the GH325, about his quest for answers.

Clint isn’t quite sure how it happens, but as each new piece of the story comes out they inch closer and closer until his shoulder is pressed up against Coulson’s. The only natural thing to do after that is for him to put his arm around his former handler.

When Coulson is done, the silence drapes over the two of them like a blanket. Clint is rarely bothered by silence—he revels in it, in fact—but now he feels the urge to fill it with something. So he starts talking. He tells Coulson about everything that’s happened since he’s been gone: about Fury’s absence, the odd missions, the time Natasha kicked a billionaire’s entire bodyguard staff’s asses singlehandedly.

Coulson listens so intently that Clint half-expects him to whip out a notebook and start taking notes.

When Clint finishes Coulson says, “You don’t seem very surprised to see me.”

Clint shrugs. “Maybe SHIELD isn’t as good at keeping secrets as they think they are. Some things didn’t add up unless I assumed that you were still alive.”

Coulson yawns and tries to smother it in the crook of Clint’s neck. He finds that he doesn’t mind. “You were always smarter that we gave you credit for.”

Clint leans his head against the top of Coulson’s and, before he knows it, they’re both asleep.

Clint prides himself in being able to notice everything—“I see best from a distance,” he’s always said—and yet somehow he’s surprised when he wakes up the next morning to find Coulson gone. If it wasn’t for the scent of Coulson on his shirt and the fact that his clothes are missing, he might be convinced that he’d dreamed the whole thing.

***

Clint is at a safe house in Paris when Coulson shows up again, three months later. His clothes are in better shape and he’s not covered in blood this time, but he still looks shaken.

Clint moves over to let him inside and locks the door. Coulson picks at a plate of leftovers while he tells his story. Fury is nowhere to be found, which doesn’t really surprise Clint in the least.

Fury may have been out of field work for a long time but he certainly hasn’t lost his touch. Odds are if he doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be. Coulson looks more frustrated than confused this time.

If Clint expects him to ask for his help, he’s disappointed once more. They exchange status reports and then fall asleep on the couch next to each other. In the morning when Clint wakes up, Coulson is gone.

Clint feels lonelier than he has since before the circus.

***

Buenos Aires: Coulson shows up with a bullet graze and an empty gun.

Hong Kong: Welts along his back that he refuses to explain and an unconscious brunette girl that he says is named Skye and was a part of his team.

Germany: Bloodshot eyes and a stack of pictures that Clint doesn’t understand.

Arizona: Sunburn so bad he stays in the shower for hours, until Clint finally falls asleep without him.

Each time—minus Arizona—he swaps stories with Clint and the two of them fall asleep on the couch together. It’s nothing more than that. They don’t touch more than is necessary, don’t hug or kiss or talk about anything but the work. Every morning Clint wakes up with Coulson already gone, even when he tries to stay up all night to catch him leaving.

There isn’t a couch in Sydney, so they sleep on the little twin bed. Coulson is still gone in the morning.

Something is different about Toronto. Clint can’t put his finger on what triggers it, but the atmosphere is charged and hot as soon as Coulson walks through the door. He doesn’t quite realize why until he’s in the middle of a story about Tony’s latest Iron Man suit and Coulson kisses him.

It’s short and dry, but Clint’s words stutter to a halt and he stares back at Coulson with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Coulson says, and Clint’s never really noticed how many new lines have been etched into his face over the past year. “I had to.”

Clint doesn’t know the words to reassure him that everything is okay, so he leans in to kiss Coulson again. This one is far from short and far from chaste. Clint kisses slow and gentle, teasing the tip of his tongue along the bottom of Coulson’s lip until his mouth opens and he can slide his tongue inside.

They kiss lazily, until they fall asleep in each other’s arms. Clint’s sure that this time Coulson isn’t going to disappear, but he’s wrong. By daybreak, Coulson has left only the lingering taste of his kiss behind.

***

It’s six months before Clint sees Coulson again, the longest interim since the first. Coulson is covered in bruises, including one that’s swelled his right eye shut, but he’s grinning. Clint doesn’t think he’s ever seen Coulson look so happy.

“I’m almost there,” Coulson says as he sits down to his sandwich and coffee. “I’m almost there.”

“And when you have all the answers, what will you do?” Clint asks. It’s something that’s been nagging at him for the last six months. He can’t imagine that SHIELD will let Coulson get away with this once they catch up to him. His team will likely never see him again.

Clint won’t either.

Coulson shrugs and that “cornered jackal” look is back in his eyes. The smile disappears and Clint wishes that he hadn’t asked. “I’ll deal with it,” he says finally.

When they curl up on the couch next to each other, there’s something different again. It’s not the charged atmosphere of their first kiss; it’s much softer. Clint twines his fingers with Coulson’s and says, “My bow is yours. If you need me.”

Coulson doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to.

***

At every safe house after that, Clint waits for the telltale knock on his door that doesn’t come. He scours SHIELD channels, desperate for any sort of news on Coulson but there’s nothing. Fury returns with an oddly defeated look in his eye.

There’s a knock on the door in Honduras, but it’s not Coulson. It’s Skye. She looks awkward as she comes inside and waves away the sandwich he offers.

“Coulson told me it would be safe here,” she says, gripping a thin laptop in her arms like it’s her lifeline.

“You’re safe,” Clint says. He doesn’t ask her about Coulson or beg for news. It feels weird, actually making up the couch for someone to sleep.

“He’s alive,” Skye says, giving the words like a peace offering. “I’m not sure where he is now, but he’s fine.” She’s stretched out on the couch now, her laptop in front of her. The glow lights up the entire tiny shack.

Clint turns out the light and climbs into bed. “Thank you,” he says. Just like Coulson always is, Skye is gone by morning. She leaves just after five and Clint is awake to hear it. He’s not sure how Coulson can be so quiet, but Skye clearly lacks that skill.

***

Clint is at SHIELD headquarters, fresh off a mission with Steve and Natasha. He checks over all the arrows in his quiver, easily losing himself in his post-mission routine.

He almost misses the familiar sound of a knock on the door. Clint sets the arrows aside and crosses the room to open it. Coulson is standing there, clean and handsome in his usual suit, with a grin on his face that could light up the world if the sun ever went out.

“It’s done.” Coulson kicks the door shut behind him and kisses Clint like the two of them have all the time in the world. And, for once, perhaps they do. Clint doesn’t ask what Coulson found out and the information isn’t offered. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Maybe it’s the change in location to his own room at SHIELD rather than a safe house, but something tells Clint that he doesn’t have to worry about Coulson leaving before morning. Not this time.


End file.
